


What We’re For (and What We Want)

by irisbleufic



Series: Delicate, Dangerous, Obsessed [37]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexuality Spectrum, Bedrooms, Bickering, Childhood Trauma, Christmas, Comedy of Errors, Cuddling & Snuggling, Demisexual Character, Demisexuality, Developing Relationship, Disability, Do not translate without permission or copy to another site/app, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Emotionally Repressed, Epilogue, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hanukkah, Heroes to Villains, Holidays, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Intersex Character, Jerome Valeska Lives, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Neurodiversity, Nonbinary Character, Other, Reconciliation, References to Consensual Kink, Rivalry, Romance, Sibling Rivalry, Siblings, Talking, Trans Character, Twins, Villains, Villains to Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:14:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21751084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: Five kissed [Jerome], partly to comfort him and partly to shut him up. “I meant what I said to Mr. Nygma last night.”Jerome studied him intently for half a minute, idly fussing with Five’s hair before tucking it behind his ears.“You sure you wanna share a name with the likes of my mother? You’re too good for that.”“You kept it for some reason,” Five said. “Also, your uncle’s name was Trumble. Your mom never married any of her lovers, so her birth name had to have been Trumble, too. What’s Valeska for?” He paused for breath, tilting his head. “What did it mean to her? What does it mean toyou?”
Relationships: 514A & Jerome Valeska, 514A/Jerome Valeska, Jeremiah Valeska & Bruce Wayne, Jeremiah Valeska & Jerome Valeska, Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Series: Delicate, Dangerous, Obsessed [37]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/726708
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	What We’re For (and What We Want)

Five used the en-suite bathroom as swiftly as possible, disliking the faucet’s icy water on his hands and the chilly marble tile beneath his feet. He dashed back into the bedroom and crawled under the decadent covers.

Jerome yawned and hugged Five to his chest, trapping one of Five’s feet between his own.

“C’mere, darlin’,” he sighed drowsily, his eyes still closed. “Gotta warm those cold toes.”

Five traced from Jerome’s scarred forehead down to his jaw. Jerome had sensation in most of his scar tissue and the skin of his face, which had come as a surprise to Five at first—likely because he’d never seen Jerome touch a razor for any reason other than to slit somebody’s throat. The lack of stubble was nice, Five decided. He’d never needed to worry about that, either, due to hormonal anomalies rather than mutilation.

“Lemme sleep,” Jerome mumbled, nuzzling into the curve of Five’s neck. “S’a nice bed.”

Five nodded again, knowing Jerome could feel his response; he had been shocked the night before, when Alfred led them to Bruce’s old room instead of to the guest room Five had used when he first broke in. He’d slept here during his brief time spent impersonating Bruce.

The imposing French doors at the end of the hall concealed the master bedroom, which was undoubtedly where Bruce and Jeremiah now slept.

Five was still brooding when Jerome stirred and splayed his fingers against Five’s back. “What’sa matter?”

“This is Bruce’s old bedroom,” Five said dully, as if that explained any of the underlying issue.

“Huh,” Jerome said, lifting his head from the pillow to look around now that daylight was creeping through the curtains. “Wouldn’t have known.”

“Everything that made it obvious isn’t here,” Five said. “You could tell back when I...” He hid his face against Jerome’s shoulder.

“Bet they’re snug as bugs where dearly departed mommy and daddy used to sleep,” Jerome said, voicing the thought Five had chosen to spare him.

“I saw something in the library,” Five admitted. “On the desk. One of the picture frames. I got a closer look when I was in there talking to Bruce.”

“What’s it got to do with this?” Jerome asked. “Unless it’s some kinda dirt we can sit on in case of emergency—”

“They _are_ married,” Five said. “Bruce and Jeremiah. Looks like it happened while we were on the run.”

“Guess the papers are bein’ literal with all that talk, then,” Jerome muttered. “The Waynes this, the Waynes that...”

Five kissed him, partly to comfort him and partly to shut him up. “I meant what I said to Mr. Nygma last night.”

Jerome studied him intently for half a minute, idly fussing with Five’s hair before tucking it behind his ears.

“You sure you wanna share a name with the likes of my mother? You’re too good for that.”

“You kept it for some reason,” Five said. “Also, your uncle’s name was Trumble. Your mom never married any of her lovers, so her birth name had to have been Trumble, too. What’s Valeska for?” He paused for breath, tilting his head. “What did it mean to her? What does it mean to _you_?”

“Grandma didn’t marry the senior Mr. Trumble, whoever he was,” Jerome said, catching Five off-guard with his sudden, easy candor. “ _Her_ name was Valeska. Mom thought it made a better stage-name than Trumble. Before Jeremiah left, she always said she had no reason to name her boys after the man who didn’t want her. So... _yeah_. That’s how we ended up with Valeska instead of Cicero.”

“Did...” Five took a few seconds to piece things together. “Did you know your grandmother?”

Jerome nodded, pressing a fond fingertip to Five’s nose. “She died when I was six. Kindest person I ever met aside from you. That’s when Mom had no choice but to take us on the road with her. Until then, we lived with Nana not too far outside the city. Nobody likes to remember the circus started here way back when, before Haly’s father decided to take it on the road. Haly’s granddad was the original ringmaster.”

Five snuggled closer, listening, entranced. Jerome’s stories could easily keep him entertained for the rest of his life. There was so much he still didn’t know about Jerome’s first eighteen years, the stretch before Galavan killed him.

“Maybe the fact you were sent to Arkham after killing your mom is why your uncle started his diner here,” Five said when Jerome didn’t continue. “And why your father decided to live here when he left the circus, too.”

“They both did it to keep tabs on Goody Two-Shoes,” Jerome said bitterly. “I was dead at the time. I wasn’t anywhere near their thoughts.”

Five kissed him again, softer and slower this time. They’d reminisced enough, and Five couldn’t stop thinking about the way Jerome had pinned him up against Bruce’s bookshelves and sucked him off when they were done dancing the night before.

“ _Mmm_ ,” Jerome said, rolling when Five pressed him onto his back. “You know how to turn a guy on. All those memories of murder and mayhem.”

Five straddled him, glad they were both naked on account of having nothing to wear except the party clothes they’d arrived in. That way, all they’d be wrecking was Bruce’s sheets. The thought was as vindictively satisfying to Five as what they’d done in the library.

“Wish I had my knives,” Five said quietly. “I’d cut one of those hearts where you usually put a tattoo,” he continued, digging his fingernails into Jerome’s bicep. “ _JV + FV_ , or maybe just...” He laughed when that got the rest of Jerome’s attention, rolling his hips now that they were both hard. “ _JV_ is _J5_ anyway. I like _J5_. You’re gonna be covered by the time I’m done with you.”

Jerome didn’t usually react so fiercely to extensive talking, so it was a thrill for Five to realize Jerome’s tipped-back head and bitten lower lip meant he was too close to even give warning. The sight of him was more than enough, and what the hell did it matter if they finished fast?

Five had never experienced an orgasm so uncontrollably overwhelming. He wondered if, for once, he was feeling what Jerome felt. If what the doctors had done to save his life was changing him from the inside out. He whimpered and shook, grounded by Jerome’s heat under him.

“Oh, precious, look at you,” Jerome murmured, rubbing from Five’s shoulder blades down to the small of his back. “Feels good?”

Five nodded, unable to speak. He knew Jerome had come, too; they were messier than when it was only just him getting off.

“Different,” Five gasped, curling his fingers into Jerome’s disarrayed hair. “It’s like...I feel it everywhere. Too _much_.”

Jerome relaxed, still running his hands over Five’s back. “I remember what it’s like when your nerves wake up.”

Five cuddled Jerome, uninclined to think about dragging him to the shower just yet. “Good morning.”

* * *

Bruce woke to a sound he didn’t hear often, but knew too well. Jeremiah’s misery wasn’t unexpected, as he’d drunk too heavily the night before. It didn’t happen frequently, but the fact that Jerome and Five were almost always the cause made Bruce feel guilty.

Jeremiah stumbled back to bed before Bruce could gather his wits enough to get up and help.

“You can hear everything through the bathroom wall,” he said, face-planting in his pillow.

“What do you mean?” Bruce asked, rolling onto his side so he could rub Jeremiah’s back.

“We’ll have to burn those bedclothes,” Jeremiah said disdainfully. “I doubt they’re using—”

Bruce pressed his lips to the corner of Jeremiah’s mouth, a little relieved to taste toothpaste. He wasn’t disgusted at the thought of what their guests were doing, but he didn’t want Jeremiah dwelling on it. Jerome probably hated thinking about the equivalent just as much.

“What’s this?” Bruce asked, touching the shallow cut on Jeremiah’s neck. “Did Jerome...”

“Yes,” Jeremiah admitted thinly, grabbing Bruce’s hand and lifting it away, “but I started it.”

Bruce frowned down at him. Hangovers always made Jeremiah’s skin seem paler than ever, and his pallor caused wounds to look infected even when they weren’t. He set the back of his hand against Jeremiah’s cheek, checking for fever.

“It wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been,” Jeremiah said, closing his eyes. “We…cleared the air.”

Bruce brushed Jeremiah’s hair back. “Something tells me it was more complicated than that.”

Jeremiah smiled grimly, opening his sea-glass eyes wide enough to catch the morning light.

“Jerome shattered my favorite whiskey tumbler, hence the cut. I told you confiscating his weapons wouldn’t make a shred of difference. If he wants to hurt somebody, he’ll find a way. I’m lucky he didn’t go for a kitchen knife. Shard of glass, low enough stakes. That’s why I didn’t bother putting up a fight. His grievances always were so _petty_. Best to just let him blow off steam, but I’m sure you learned that the hard way.”

Bruce shifted, resting his cheek on his forearm. He stroked Jeremiah’s face with his free hand.

“Somehow, I don’t think it was petty this time. Clearing the air usually means a talk’s overdue.”

Jeremiah clenched his jaw, looking Bruce in the eye. “We discussed what a bad person I am.”

“How many times do I have to tell you,” Bruce implored, “that I don’t think it’s that simple?”

With shocking precision for someone so miserable, Jeremiah grabbed Bruce’s shoulder and hauled Bruce on top of him. He pressed Bruce’s forearm to his windpipe, head tipped back. The first time they’d ended up like this, they’d been sparring for exercise.

“Tell me Oswald’s right,” Jeremiah panted, holding Bruce’s arm fast when Bruce tried to yank it away. “Tell me Jerome and I are even. I ruined his life, and he ruined mine. Eye for an eye. The rest’s just…details. Oswald says we both got…what we wanted.”

Bruce kissed him, hoping to derail what would turn into a self-pitying wallow if Jeremiah didn’t stop. Worse for wear or not, he was breathtaking.

“Oswald’s right,” Bruce said between bruising kisses, hissing when Jeremiah bit him. “Let go.”

Jeremiah burst into laughter, running his tongue over Bruce’s stinging lip. “Bruce, _really_?”

Pinning Jeremiah’s wrists above his head, Bruce was almost sorry they were naked. He could’ve used his robe’s belt to bind Jeremiah to the headboard slats like he’d done a handful of times already.

“Really,” Bruce said, finding he didn’t have to feign anger. “Wasn’t I what you wanted?”

Abruptly, Jeremiah’s features softened. He tugged his wrists from Bruce’s grasp and set his hands on Bruce’s cheeks, wide-eyed as he nodded.

Bruce kissed him, desperately adoring, his eyes closed tight. “You’re what I wanted, too.”

Jeremiah gasped brokenly when Bruce didn’t stop kissing him, didn’t rest until he’d tasted Jeremiah’s skin from throat to belly. He wasn’t quiet when he came in Bruce’s mouth, pink-cheeked with chagrin by the time Bruce pulled off him.

“Fine, you’ve made your point,” Jeremiah sulked, tugging at Bruce’s hair until Bruce got the message and crawled up to lie beside him. He curled one hand around Bruce’s erection, stroking until Bruce couldn’t do anything but plead and cling.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce gasped, dislodging Jeremiah’s hand as he tried to get closer. “I shouldn’t—”

“ _Shhh_ ,” Jeremiah soothed, gathering Bruce fully into his arms. “There’s no need. Come here.”

Bruce hated that climaxes as intense as this one tended to leave him borderline tearful, but Jeremiah treated the phenomenon like a gift.

“Oh, dear heart,” Jeremiah murmured, kissing Bruce’s eyes before they could spill over. “I’ll be nice to them at breakfast, I promise.”

“You don’t have to be,” Bruce replied, melting against him with a bone-deep sigh of relief. “I can’t make you.”

“No, but you make me _want_ to be better than I am,” Jeremiah insisted, wiping Bruce’s eyes. “That's a start.”


End file.
